


The Elf and the Shoemistress

by itachitachi



Series: Summer Pornathon '12 [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Elves, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Shoes, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachitachi/pseuds/itachitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shoes from the ensuing battle will later be collected into the le Fay <i>Elven</i> line, and sell collectively for over a million pounds. Morgana will spend half the money in support of various charities, and the rest on designer gowns and sex toys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Elf and the Shoemistress

**Author's Note:**

> For Pthon 2012 week 5: Myths and legends. Yes, I'm aware I failed to fit the porn in. Yes, I'm aware of what a grievous shame this is. :(

Being an elf in the current age isn't easy.

Morris is perfectly content to slap together Crocs and flip-flops. George produces marvels of podiatric artistry like they did in the olden days, but they must always be affixed with the Nike logo, and are always boxed the same as factory-built rubbish.

People these days don’t appreciate elf-made shoes like they used to.

"Don't you have any pride in your work?" Merlin asks George. "Don't you think it deserves better?"

"I am but a humble shoemaking dwarf," George says, nose in the air. "I don't need others to recognize my perfection."

Gaius gives Merlin a disapproving eyebrow from the corner where he's stitching together a Nike swoop.

And so it goes, until the day Merlin packs his bag of tools and sets out, leaving the sneaker factory and setting out for the big city.

After a time of wandering, he happens upon a small workroom decorated in leather, with shoes on every wall. There are cherry red peeptoes and sinister stilettos, shoes worked like steel lace, boots that could crush a man's head like an egg underfoot. Each pair has Merlin itching with desire, but they all pale in comparison to the unfinished pair lying on the table—the room's centerpiece, dark and powerful with sex worked into every careful seam.

Merlin sees them, and can't help himself.

===

Morgana is a shoemaker (she prefers designer), and, in her spare time, a dominatrix. She thus appreciates the value of a good thigh-high boot.

And the boots currently sitting in the center of her workstation, embossed with black leather and laced suggestively all the way up, put good to shame. They are magnificent, each utter works of art.

They were supposed to have been Morgana’s works of art. She is offended even as she itches to slide them onto her feet and lace them up. She knows the leather is softer than butter.

“Elves,” she hisses, snatching up the boots.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.

===

The sight of the boots lying in the bin the following night draws a distraught moan from Merlin’s throat. The sight of the blue pumps on the table, however, draws a gasp. They ooze class, clearly stitched in a frenzy of shoemaking passion, and yet with immaculate precision.

They are also quite pointedly finished.

“So it’s a throwdown, hmm?” Merlin says. He rubs his hands together.

===

The shoes from the ensuing battle will later be collected into the le Fay _Elven_ line, and sell collectively for over a million pounds. Morgana will spend half the money in support of various charities and the rest on designer gowns and sex toys.

In the meantime, however, there is a war to win.

If Morgana were her brother, she would fight fairly and honourably. But because she is herself, and not Arthur (or stupid), she does what she has to.

She hides her favourite fabrics before the elf comes out at night, stowing away all her tools and crystals and even all her metal heel reinforcements. It all seems for naught, however—the fabrics are always gone from their hiding place in the morning; the elf seems to have his own set of tools; and without the materials to make a heel, the elf outdoes himself by presenting an absolutely luscious pair of flats. Morgana has to quickly try them on once before tossing them, cursing her weakness.

The next logical step is confrontation and possibly a catfight, clearly, only Morgana doesn’t expect—

“You’re naked!” she shrieks, when the elf materializes into the room in a not-nearly-opaque-enough cloud of smoke.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” the elf shrieks in return, skittering backward, and then tripping over Morgana’s tripwire.

It is a chance, so she quickly ties the elf’s wrists together as planned with a pair of shoelaces. Then she pauses.

“I thought elves were supposed to be tiny, and live in little holes or something,” she admits.

“Magic,” the elf says, as if she’s some sort of idiot. “Of course we’re the same size as you. How could we work staple guns or anything if we were tiny?”

“I don’t know,” she says acidly. “Magic?”

They stare at each other for a moment, assessing.

“Your... shoes... are really sexy,” the elf says, face pink.

“Want to fuck?” Morgana says. The elf is quite nice-looking all over, really, so there’s no reason not to be direct.

“Only if you wear the boots,” says the elf.

She does.


End file.
